A Fortunate Mistake
Dara Girard
Published by ILORI PRESS BOOKS LLC
www.iloripressbooks.com
Smashwords Edition
All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced in any fashion without the express written consent of the copyright holder.
A Fortunate Mistake
***
The phone call shattered a beautiful crying fit at 3 a.m. on Christmas Eve. Marina Durosomo had gone through an entire box of tissues and blown her nose until it hurt and her red rimmed eyes were dry when the piercing of the phone invaded her quiet apartment. She wanted to ignore it, to continue to drown in her misery and the stinging critique of her now closed bakery that continued to torment her, but the insistent ringing wouldn't stop. Who could be calling her now? She didn't want to hear more bad news. She reluctantly reached for the phone, slow enough to hope that by the time she picked up, the person on the other end would hang up.
"Hello?" she said.
"Did I wake you?"
Marina wiped her eyes, recognizing her mother's voice. She was good at asking questions that didn't need an answer. If she said 'yes', her mother would apologize but not really mean it. If she said 'no', her mother would ask what was wrong and she didn't want to tell her. "I'm fine."
"You sound like you're coming down with a cold."
"I'm fine," she repeated, tossing her empty box of tissues into the recycling bin.
"You don't sound--"
"Mom, what's wrong?"
"I need you to pick up Aunty Helen."
"Aunty who?"
"That's her English name. You won't remember her real one. Besides, you don't know her. She's the mother of a good friend of ours."
Because her mother had about twenty 'good friends' Marina didn't even try to make the connection. It wasn't unusual to have unexpected visitors arrive from Nigeria. They treated their family like a taxi and hotel service, but her mother and father were steeped in the tradition of hospitality and didn't want anything negative said about them back home, even though an ocean separated them. "Okay when will she be here?"
"She's arriving at four-thirty."
"This morning?"
"Yes, why else would I be calling you now? You have an hour and a half to get ready and be over there."
Her mother made it sound so sensible. "Why me?"
"She's coming in at BWI. You're closer to the airport and I have to go to work."
"I work too."
Her mother's responding silence was eloquent. She used to work. She used to have a business she was proud of, but that was all over now. All because of a major recession and a business partner who'd embezzled her funds and disappeared. But no, the truth was her business hadn't failed. She had. There were other bakeries that were flourishing, but the critique had shown a light on all her fears. She just wasn't good enough. Her mother had told her the bakery was a foolish dream, that she should have tried for something more sensible. Her mother would never say 'I told you so', but she didn't have to. Now she would be chauffer to some stranger. This was her punishment. She hated the holidays. Every year they seemed to show her how far she was from the life she wanted. It highlighted another year of grasping for something out of reach.
"What's her flight number?" Marina asked to fill the silence and resigned to her fate.
Her mother told her.
"Can't Wale go?"
"I can't reach him. Hurry, I don't want her waiting there alone. And this will be good for you."
"Good?"
"Yes, to get out of your apartment."
"Mom, I don't need to hear this right now. I just want to sleep."
"You can sleep all you want after you pick her up and settle her in your place."
"My place?"
"Yes, we'll come and get her in the evening."
Marina looked around her messy apartment--the carpet needed a good vacuum, she could spell her name in the dust. After her career imploded she hadn't cared about her surroundings. She didn't want a guest, she didn't want to pretend to celebrate the holidays, she wanted to disappear, but she didn't have a
Dara Girard
Published by ILORI PRESS BOOKS LLC
www.iloripressbooks.com
Smashwords Edition
All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced in any fashion without the express written consent of the copyright holder.
A Fortunate Mistake
***
The phone call shattered a beautiful crying fit at 3 a.m. on Christmas Eve. Marina Durosomo had gone through an entire box of tissues and blown her nose until it hurt and her red rimmed eyes were dry when the piercing of the phone invaded her quiet apartment. She wanted to ignore it, to continue to drown in her misery and the stinging critique of her now closed bakery that continued to torment her, but the insistent ringing wouldn't stop. Who could be calling her now? She didn't want to hear more bad news. She reluctantly reached for the phone, slow enough to hope that by the time she picked up, the person on the other end would hang up.
"Hello?" she said.
"Did I wake you?"
Marina wiped her eyes, recognizing her mother's voice. She was good at asking questions that didn't need an answer. If she said 'yes', her mother would apologize but not really mean it. If she said 'no', her mother would ask what was wrong and she didn't want to tell her. "I'm fine."
"You sound like you're coming down with a cold."
"I'm fine," she repeated, tossing her empty box of tissues into the recycling bin.
"You don't sound--"
"Mom, what's wrong?"
"I need you to pick up Aunty Helen."
"Aunty who?"
"That's her English name. You won't remember her real one. Besides, you don't know her. She's the mother of a good friend of ours."
Because her mother had about twenty 'good friends' Marina didn't even try to make the connection. It wasn't unusual to have unexpected visitors arrive from Nigeria. They treated their family like a taxi and hotel service, but her mother and father were steeped in the tradition of hospitality and didn't want anything negative said about them back home, even though an ocean separated them. "Okay when will she be here?"
"She's arriving at four-thirty."
"This morning?"
"Yes, why else would I be calling you now? You have an hour and a half to get ready and be over there."
Her mother made it sound so sensible. "Why me?"
"She's coming in at BWI. You're closer to the airport and I have to go to work."
"I work too."
Her mother's responding silence was eloquent. She used to work. She used to have a business she was proud of, but that was all over now. All because of a major recession and a business partner who'd embezzled her funds and disappeared. But no, the truth was her business hadn't failed. She had. There were other bakeries that were flourishing, but the critique had shown a light on all her fears. She just wasn't good enough. Her mother had told her the bakery was a foolish dream, that she should have tried for something more sensible. Her mother would never say 'I told you so', but she didn't have to. Now she would be chauffer to some stranger. This was her punishment. She hated the holidays. Every year they seemed to show her how far she was from the life she wanted. It highlighted another year of grasping for something out of reach.
"What's her flight number?" Marina asked to fill the silence and resigned to her fate.
Her mother told her.
"Can't Wale go?"
"I can't reach him. Hurry, I don't want her waiting there alone. And this will be good for you."
"Good?"
"Yes, to get out of your apartment."
"Mom, I don't need to hear this right now. I just want to sleep."
"You can sleep all you want after you pick her up and settle her in your place."
"My place?"
"Yes, we'll come and get her in the evening."
Marina looked around her messy apartment--the carpet needed a good vacuum, she could spell her name in the dust. After her career imploded she hadn't cared about her surroundings. She didn't want a guest, she didn't want to pretend to celebrate the holidays, she wanted to disappear, but she didn't have a
Similar Books
The Mourning Sexton
Michael Baron
Unraveled
Dani Matthews
Out Of The Silent Planet
C.S. Lewis
On a Clear Winter Night: An Irin Chronicles Short Story
Elizabeth Hunter
First Position
Melody Grace
Thomas and Percy and the Dragon
Rev. W. Awdry
Lost Between Houses
David Gilmour
Long Upon the Land
Margaret Maron
One Night Stand
Parker Kincade
What Kills Me
Wynne Channing